Out
of My Head
...part
XIII...
.:The Door's Locked, And Nobody's Home:.
He probably wasn't the best person to ask in reference to the subject, but life was good. Well, it was if you weren't getting the shit beat out of you by an impatient, short-tempered She-Witch that happened to be a goddess, six ways from Sunday. In fact, if you asked Spike, the only way life could truly be good was if you had Buffy Summers at your side. Which he did. And nobody else did. Wah.
Buffy had really gotten into the whole nursemaid thing for the last week or so. Bustling around Joyce's room, bringing him his nummies (although it was hella hard to keep a straight face at the face she made when bringing him his blood-n-hash browns combo -- "So not gonna ask!"). She even brought him random prezzies -- surprisingly, he'd even received something from Harris and Rupert. Xander had, for the sake of a really bad joke, given him two leather cuffs with silver spikes sticking out of them. Giles, however, had given him a beautiful reddish-brown leather-bound journal (which had promptly made him hungry upon first glance -- there had to have been a hidden subtext somewhere on there, since it was the exact coppery-red shade of blood). It had made him wonder -- he'd been needing to go out and steal a new journal for a while. How the hell could the Watcher have known? He was positive that nothing vaguely bookish in appearance was viewable at the crypt.
Later, he just chalked it up to a very nosy girl, her nosy sister, and their even nosier friends. Damn meddling humans.
Buffy was in the room with him at all times, day and night. She'd been so protective and possessive that if it hadn't hurt so goddamn much to laugh, Spike would have ended up rolling on the floor in hysterics. His Bitty had entertained him quite a bit with the arguments she and her sister had at his expense.
One thing he wasn't particularly fond of, though, was that Buffy teased him. Mercilessly. Yesterday morning, in fact, she'd come up the stairs to give him his brekky, and her robe had slipped open as she bent over, revealing to him what was underneath.
She really wasn't wearing much.
And then, this morning, the little bint had gone and changed right in front of him -- stripped down all the way, bearing all. He'd been left panting, with a very painful erection that he couldn't do much about. A day after his rescue, Buffy had discovered that he'd fractured his right arm. It had pretty much been beaten on brutally, only hairline fractures when he'd been under Glory-Attack, but when he'd dropped down into the elevator, the entire bone in the forearm had shattered into scraggly pieces.
Actually, the only reason he hadn't been able to do anything about his hard-on had been because Buffy had wrapped him up in about fifty pieces of gauze, stiffening his arm to the point of no use altogether. For some reason, while he could do everything else with his left hand, whacking off required both hands. He'd never bothered to question himself why. He just went along with it. (It probably had something to do with Dru.) Anyway, maybe she'd forgotten that vampires healed quickly, because his arm was feeling much, much better now...
Buffy, at the moment, was wearing one of her pride-and-joys -- a sort of tie-dyed black and blue halter top with one thin string roping around her neck and around her back. The material was completely sheer, and Buffy had cheerfully neglected the use of a strapless bra underneath for the tiniest bit of support. She wore a sort of gauzy (okay, completely transparent) black blouse over it. And over her boots, she wore boot-cut, tight-fitting flares with a silver link belt circling her hips.
He was trying to decide when the best time to ambush her was.
Problem was, neither of them was in a position to make for any of the hot monkey lovin' at the moment. They were in Joyce's bedroom, for one thing. He wasn't gonna insult her; having sex with her daughter in Joyce's bed would probably give the poor woman a coronary. And besides that, Joyce's bedroom had become Scooby Central, and all of Buffy's mates were milling around, annoying the hell out of him.
Okay, so they weren't really irritating him too much. Not all of them were, anyway. Willow and Tara just kept asking if he was comfortable or if he needed anything, as did Buffy, Dawn, and (in keeping with the Scooby Demon Alliance) Anya, so that was a bit of all right. But Giles kept shooting him a quirky British eyebrow that he was ready to burn off, and Xander kept making fun of his hair.
He was seriously beginning to wonder what Buffy would do to him if he took it upon himself to eat Xander.
And anyway, it wasn't Spike's fault that his slicked back locks had turned into poodle curls during his immobility period.
It was Buffy's.
She'd refused to get him the gel! And worser still, his roots were starting to show. He was beginning to have the horrifying suspicions that Buffy liked his hair the way it was.
Ah, he'd forgive her for it later. And he was going to have to give the Scoobs quite a bit of credit. Buffy had been curled up in his arms on the bed for almost an hour, now, and not one of them had said anything horrible. If they had, rest assured that Buffy would have set them straight.
Actually, Spike was guessing that the vampire/Slayer cuddling was why Giles was giving him the fishhook.
The Slayer's friends had been there for almost two hours now, and Spike's brain felt like it was gonna explode. Ker-plow, gray matter everywhere. Used to be fun watching that happen to his victims when he shoved a spike through their brains, but somehow, Spike just didn't fancy that happening to him. Giles had been droning on and on about Glory for going on ten minutes, Xander kept giving his ill-timed quips, and if Buffy hadn't been curled up soundly with her arms wrapped around his waist, he would've grabbed the whelp and plucked his mouth off by now, just to shut him up.
"Spike. Spike," Buffy whispered, poking him lightly. The vampire looked up, his head darting around. Nobody was paying any attention to him, and so he looked back down at Buffy and frowned.
"What?" he asked. He was very big with confusion at the moment, naturally. Just call him Xander. Hah.
Buffy smiled and shrugged. "Just wanted to see how long it would take to snap you out of it. Are you as bored with this as I am?"
Spike grunted. "I've died twice more from boredom already, luv."
Giles cleared his throat loudly, making Buffy jump. Spike just turned his head and scowled at him. "Yes, Rupert?" he asked in a pleasant tone, though the look on his face was borne of many wanting-to-rip-out-your-innards feelings at the same time.
The Watcher gave Spike a stern Look, and Spike pouted, backing down. Stupid Watcher wasn't gonna let him have any fun. "Do you two have any questions, or should I just declare you both chronically ignorant from here on in?"
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not ignorant. I just don't use my knowledge when necessary except in battle." Spike snorted at the same time that Xander squawked with laughter, and Buffy delivered a painful elbow to Spike's left arm, then kicked Xander in the thigh from his seat at the foot of the bed, giving them both deadly scowls. She turned her attention back to Giles. "And as a matter of fact, I have a claim-y type thing, with a question attached, so go find your tweeds and listen." Giles refused to dignify her order with a response, but instead ceased his pacing and waited patiently for her to begin. Buffy looked around and sighed, then sat up slightly.
"At the apartments. When I was heading upstairs to find Spike. Something... happened. The claim's hold on me got worse or something, because when Glory hurt Spike, I felt it even more than usual. It wasn't just the gnawing ache or anything, this was actual pain. But here's the weird thing, okay? When I looked down, I was bleeding --"
Giles frowned. "That doesn't seem too unnatural, Buffy."
Buffy scowled at him. "Lemme finish. I wasn't hurt, Giles. I was definitely feeling the pain, I wasn't under any attack or anything, but when I looked down, I had blood pouring on me from where Spike's wounds were." She stopped for a moment to indicate Spike's bare chest (he'd been wearing his button-down shirts a lot more lately, but at the moment, he was shirtless), which revealed the stake wound and the scars that Glory had left on his abdomen by carving her initials, then continued. "Except that where he got the absolute shit beaten out of him," she pulled aside her shirt to reveal her collarbone and abdomen, "I don't have a single mark on me. I started bleeding, but I wasn't injured. And what was even more wiggy was that it was most definitely my blood on my clothes. I've seen it enough times by now to know."
Giles's eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed and he frowned, revealing his Giles-Think face. "Hmm... most interesting."
Buffy's eyes widened, and she groaned under her breath. Crap; he'd said the two worst things ever -- 'hmm' and 'interesting.' That meant that they were going to be stuck there for the next twenty minutes trying to figure this out. Pouting, she plopped her head on Spike's shoulder, glaring at the rest of the gang as they glared right back -- "You, of the Cursed More-Work-Making Tribe -- die, die, die!" was what their faces said. She poked Spike in the side when he began chuckling, then withdrew from him when he yelped, taking the opportunity to look over his healing.
All in all, he was looking all right. The worst of his bruises had dimmed to a very revolting, very imaginative pukish-yellow color (which were pretty much the ones around his eyes, though they were fading), and the wound on his stomach from Glory's finger which had settled there like a second, diseased belly-button had fully closed up. Now it was a meager whitish-pink puckered circle. The stake wound, which resided next to his collarbone, just under his shoulder, was still pretty caustic-looking. But it had healed over well, and, though still deep, had clotted over nicely. It did look pretty odd, though, the pink, recovering flesh surrounded by the mass of Anne Rice ivory perfection. In fact, if they hadn't been in the middle of a meeting, and if she didn't have her self-control (or what was left of it since her relationship with Spike had begun), she would've jumped him right then and there. It was sort of morbid-thinking, but his injuries and wounds somehow just made him sexier.
Okay, yeah, she'd been around him way too long.
His other owies (whoa, Mom-talk, not cool) were better. His fractured arm was not-so-fractured (she just kept it tied up so he couldn't use it on her -- she'd gotten the notion somehow that a vampire with a wounded hand could be extremely creative). His ribs were pummel-worthy once again, and his nose was no longer broken. She nearly snorted out loud as she recalled herself sitting on top of him, with Scoobies on either side to hold him down as she popped his nose back into place, Spike howling like a wolf and thrashing around the whole time.
"Maybe something's wrong with the claim," Anya piped up out of nowhere. Buffy snapped out of it, realizing that Spike was staring right back at her, and that they'd apparently been having a staring contest throughout her thoughts. She looked at Spike, then at Anya, back to Spike again, before staring at Giles.
"Wha?" she asked.
Spike grinned. "Very articulate, luv."
She shoved him. "Shut up, Spike. What about the claim?"
Anya shrugged. "Well, have you accepted his claim on you? You have to say it out loud so he can hear it. If you haven't even done that yet, then that's probably why you're receiving the ouchies, but no lacerations."
Buffy frowned. "I didn't think of that."
The ex-demon snorted. "Well, obviously. When was the last time he claimed you?"
She tilted her head. "Claimed me as in said the words out loud?" Anya nodded. Buffy furrowed her brow, thinking. Somehow, she managed to keep herself from jumping with surprise when she realized that Spike hadn't whispered the claim the morning that they'd made love. That should have been the pinnacle of all claimings for him. She glanced at him, aware that he should be able to zone in on her thoughts. He refused to lock gazes with her, just as she'd expected. "Uh, the last time was that, uh, night that you all busted into the crypt. Uh, Riley saw Spike claim me, remember?"
Xander's upper lip curled at the mention of the soldier. "Ew. I remember." He looked toward Dawn and grinned. "I also remember that our little Dawnie was the bravest one to go up against the G-man that night." Dawn beamed proudly as Giles shook his head.
"Xander, I have told you repeatedly not to call me that!" he grumbled.
"Sorry!" Xander replied with a huge grin, looking not the least bit sorry.
Buffy rolled her eyes. Xander seemed to be downgrading -- instead of maturing with every year, he was immaturing. It was going to get annoying. "Okay, so off-topic here, guys." She turned back to Anya. "What does it mean? I mean, how long are you supposed to let a claim go without replying to it?"
Anya shrugged. "Normally, when a vampire claims someone, it's usually another vampire. So if they don't reply, then the claim is pointless, lost on them. But you're the Slayer, so it looks like it's having physical effects on you. Bleeding your own blood, but you have no wounds to show for it, feeling when Spike is hurt or in danger... It's not supposed to become a physical manifestation. And the claim at the crypt was around two or three weeks ago, maybe longer. Since you felt Spike's injuries first, then bled when he did second, my guess is that it's just going to get worse from there until you finally accept the claim. Otherwise, you'll be in major trouble. Possibly life-threatening trouble."
Buffy's eyes widened, and she turned, smacking Spike in the shoulder. "You were letting me die and didn't tell me?!" She began hitting him in earnest now, smacking his ribs, his arms, shoulders, legs; everywhere she could reach.
Spike shrank away from her hits, fending her off with his hands. "Hey, now! 'S not like I knew what was gonna happen, luv, I've never claimed anyone before, much less a Slayer!"
Everyone stopped and Spike inwardly winced at his admission. Fuck; now she knew. Buffy stared at him in disbelief. "You've never claimed anyone?" Spike closed his eyes and sighed, nodding. "But... what about Dru? You were with her for over a century, didn't you ever try to claim her?"
Spike looked away. "I tried. She didn't accept."
Rather, she refused to accept. Throughout the century that she and Spike had been on their own, she'd become obsessed with searching for Angelus, even though he'd had his soul when he'd left and made it clear to them that they were not to come after him. Angelus had been a cruel bastard, he and Darla raising torture to a divine art with their victims, but he'd never been so cruel when it came to his Childer. He had said some of the most hurtful things he could think of as a way to keep his two children from searching him out. The words had an instant impact on Spike, and he'd hated the Irish vampire from that moment on, but to Dru he was still her 'daddy.' He was the creature that had created her, and he would forever be Drusilla's obsession.
Also, she'd probably been used to the harsh words. Angelus had, after all, instilled in her the necessity to adore torture and hate.
Therefore, when Angelus had left them, and hadn't reappeared within a decade, his mark on Dru (in Spike's eyes) had become officially null and void. To everyone but Dru, it did. Spike had tried claiming her one night in 1914, just a few weeks before the First World War had broken out, and Drusilla had not only mentally, but physically rejected him in his bed that night. The nights following, they had resumed their normal schedule -- feeding, fighting, love-making, sleeping -- as if Spike's attempt at claiming had never happened.
He was grateful that the group had the sense not to say anything -- even Xander had managed to keep his fat mouth shut, although it was probably from Anya's Looks than anything else -- but they were staring at him now. Normally, he enjoyed being the center of attention, but this was too fucking much. It was grating on his nerves. He scrambled to stand up, then walked impassively out of the room.
When he left, Buffy quietly sat up, moving forward until she was seated at Anya's right. "Anya... what does it mean to be claimed again?"
Anya was silent for a moment. When she looked up, her brow was creased, and she had a frown on her face. "A claim is... a form of protection from other vampires in some cases. Um... when it happens between vampires... it's supposed to mean that they'll be mates for eternity. Spike isn't exactly the rarest vampire on earth, or recorded in history. He holds his own, and he's one of the most renowned, but he wasn't the first vampire capable of love. He wasn't the only vampire capable of love. When a claim takes place between vampires, it's showing the world that they are in love, and that they belong to each other forever. Usually, the other vampire -- the one who is receiving the claim -- completes the circuit. They've claimed each other, and no one else can touch them, or their mate."
"But if a vampire does not accept the claim, then, as Anya said before, the claim is lost. To a vampire it means that they've lost a life-partner. That the other vampire either wasn't capable of loving the same person for eternity, or wasn't capable of love for that vampire at all," Giles finished.
Dawn looked stricken, her face a mask of sympathy. "Oh my god. Spike loved Dru enough to be willing to spend eternity with her, but she didn't accept his claim."
"And that means she didn't want to spend eternity with him," Willow continued, frowning.
"Poor Spike," Tara murmured. "That means... that means that..."
"It means that Drusilla didn't love him," Buffy mumbled, putting her face in her hands. "God..."
And suddenly, Buffy had an awful thought. Back in the crypt, when she'd realized that Spike had still wanted to kill, she had told him that she knew about the claim, and that she wouldn't accept it since she wasn't his. What if he had taken her seriously? It would have explained why he had only bitten her wrist that night at the Bronze, and why he hadn't claimed her when they'd made love.
Oh, god, wasn't she just the Super Colossal Bitch this month? And she wasn't even PMS-ing. Poor Spike probably thought he was doomed to being alone for the rest of his unlife.
Xander frowned. Even he looked sympathetic. "Well, she had to have cared about him a little, right? I mean, she was with him for a hundred years."
Buffy sighed, shaking her head. "Correction: he was taking care of her for a hundred years. Dru was weak and insane before they came to Sunnydale, remember?"
Willow glanced at her, then at Xander before speaking. "She cared about him, yeah, he was her Childe. She just didn't love him, or at least not like he loved her. If she did, Angel turning into Angelus wouldn't even have mattered to her. She cheated on Spike right in front of his face when Angel changed."
"In other words, she cared about him, but he was more or less a plaything to her. Just a toy she could bat around at and use when she got fidgety," Tara added. "I didn't know Spike way back then, like you did, but the vibes coming off of him are major. I get the feeling that he was completely devoted to Drusilla."
Buffy nodded. "He was. You guys all saw him when he was with her. He loved her more than anything. Xander, you and Will saw him when he first came back, after Dru left him. You guys saw how broken he was." Buffy looked down. "And all of it never even mattered to her."
Silence ruled the room once again, until Buffy stood up and looked around. "Meeting over, guys."
Giles rose and looked at her. "Buffy, just a moment--"
Buffy stared at him hard. "Giles. Meeting over."
It was in her expression. It was readable to everyone in the room. Giles nodded finally, understanding what she wanted. "Very well, Buffy. Please... do be careful," he murmured as he turned to leave. Buffy folded her arms and nodded.
When the room was finally empty, save for Dawn and the witches, the teen looked at her sister. "Do you want me to get gone, too? I can stay with Tara and Willow. Would that be okay?"
Buffy paused, then nodded. "Yeah, you can go with them. Uh, Will, set up a protection spell, just in case some of Glory's goons try to make a move."
Willow nodded. "Sure thing, Buffy." She turned to the fourteen-year-old. "Come on, Dawnie. I think we have some Rocky Road in the freezer," she said, grinning.
Buffy watched them leave, following them to the front door. As they headed out of sight, she turned and looked up the stairs.
Spike was finally going to get what was coming to him.
He felt like such a ponce.
He felt like a drama queen, too, but that was beside the point. The point being that he'd let his emotions get the best of him, again, and he was now positive that every single person inside Joyce's bedroom finally knew the truth.
He'd known. He'd known all along, really. He had been her little darling when he'd first been turned, but as the years progressed, he just hadn't been able to keep his hold on her. It had always been Angelus at first. Drusilla had always run to her sire. Then came the decades of absolutely nothing. And by a chance of fate, when Buffy had slept with the wanker, the bastard returned and stole his Dru right out from under him.
Literally, at one point.
The truth was that Dru had never really loved him. Not like he'd loved her. It had all been an elaborate act -- Spike had been nothing more than a replacement for the evil version of his Sire. He'd realized that this was something that was just going to keep happening, that Dru was no longer the type that would keep her hands and body to him and only him. She had rejected him in his own bed in 1914, and he'd later found her snuffing around with a particularly grungy looking Bavrok demon. She'd rejected him in favor of his formerly souled sire. And then she'd rejected him for a Chaos demon. The woman had openly cheated on him three times.
It wasn't very funny after the fourth time. Stupid Fungus demon. He should've killed that damn bastard when he'd had the chance. He should've shown her how dangerous and violent he could be. Because that was all that had really mattered to Dru anyway. How violent and vengeful her current sex toy was.
But, if he'd done that, he wouldn't have ended up in Sunnydale once again. He never would have fallen under that spell that Red had screwed up. He wouldn't be with Buffy now if it weren't for that stupid sodding traitorous rank bitch of a sire of his, cheating on him with his other stupid poofy traitorous wanker of a sire. And he loved Buffy.
He really loved Buffy.
Her voice, however, still echoed in his mind from that day at his crypt, telling him that she would never belong to him, she would never fully be his. It had stuck with him; what if she was being honest? What if she would never be his? He'd been weary about claiming her during sex as it was. From what she'd said, it appeared she didn't want to be claimed at all.
He wanted Buffy to be his, more than anything he'd ever wanted. He wanted her to realize that she was his mate, his lover, his everything. He wanted to be with her, to love her, to shag her, to do whatever the hell else with her. He wanted her by his side. He wanted someone he could trust, someone to be his willing companion.
He had thought Dru would be willing. He really had.
He smelled her scent and heard her footsteps before she even entered the room. Of course it was a bit hard to detect her that easily -- he was sitting in her room, after all, and it did smell like her. But now he could hear her footsteps outside the room, and without hesitation, she had opened the door and strode toward him purposefully. He wasn't sure if he should be amazed or annoyed -- she had known exactly where he was.
Buffy moved toward him until she was seated on the bed, far enough away so he wouldn't attack her if he was pissy, but close enough to hold his hand. One never really could tell how Spike was going to act -- lately he was PMS-ing worse than she did on her really bad days.
Spike sat silently, allowing her to loosely clutch his hand. She hadn't said anything, and if she hadn't been keeping him in place with steely eyes and her hand, he would've started pacing. And pacing was something he was all too familiar with these days.
"Are you okay?" she finally asked, tilting her head. Spike responded with a grunt. Buffy rolled her eyes. "I guess that's a no." She sighed and lifted a hand toward his face, cupping his chin and turning his head until his eyes met hers.
"I'm sorry," she murmured softly. "I didn't mean to bring up any painful memories." She scooted up towards him on the bed, then laid herself half on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck and gently stroking his jaw. "I don't know exactly what went on between you and Dru after you left Sunnydale, but I know -- maybe she thought you couldn't handle her, and the lifestyle she wanted. But maybe the truth of it is that she couldn't handle you. Maybe you were the one that was growing, and she didn't want to deal with that. And if so..." She sat up and gently kissed his cheek. "It's her loss."
Spike stared down at her, contemplating it. And suddenly, he heard his and Dru's voices, arguing in the park in Brazil.
"I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California, she's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"
"But you're lying! I can still see her, floating all around you! Laughing!... Why? Why can't you push her away?"
"But I did, pet, I did it for you. And you keep punishing me..."
"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."
"So this is my fault now?"
"You can't blame a girl, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."
Maybe Dru hadn't loved him, but the reason for their first break-up had been clear. She'd been cheating on him, but only because she'd been jealous. He had clearly been haunted by the Slayer since he'd met the girl, and Drusilla hadn't known what to do. Obviously, it didn't matter when she cheated on Spike, because she knew he would still be waiting for her at the end, no matter what. But when the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, Drusilla had no idea what to do with herself. Because if Spike was beginning to show signs of moving on, then it meant that she'd done something wrong. She wasn't able to hold on to her mate.
Huh. And this whole time, he'd thought Dru had dumped him simply because he'd softened up. She'd actually been jealous that another girl had captured Spike's thoughts.
Spike smiled slightly and leaned down to kiss Buffy. "I think you're right about that, pet."
Buffy smiled and crawled up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed his jaw and cheek. "I usually am. Dru majorly screwed up by letting you get away. And now you're mine, and you are so not going anywhere."
Spike chuckled softly, rolling on top of her. "What if I want to leave?"
Buffy raised her hand and traced his lips with it. Spike felt the other hand delve lower and lower, then let out a yelp as she squeezed the lump in his pants particularly hard. Buffy smiled. "Then I guess you're completely fucked over, as far as you and I go. Do you want that, Spikey? Cuz you might end up hitting yourself for it if you do."
Little bitch. Spike scowled at her when she let go. "No, Mistress Buffy, it would be an ignorant an' brainless thing if I did," he muttered sarcastically, complete with rolling-of-the-eyes and a tight, annoyed smile.
Buffy giggled, and drew his face to hers, kissing him softly, sweetly. "I love you, Spike," she murmured, tilting her head as she led her lips to his neck.
Okay, things could not get any better than those three words pouring out of her mouth. Well, maybe aside from "Take me, Spike, take me now!" And he wouldn't be surprised if she said it one of these days, she was as enthusiastic about sex with him as he was with her. Spike gave a low, rumbling purr and placed a kiss on her neck. "I love you, too, baby."
Buffy's head raised toward his and she gave him a brilliant smile. Wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling his head down, she pressed her lips to his, nimble little tongue daintily licking the hidden crevices of his mouth before touching his own tongue and < mmm, Buffy > her taste flooded his system. Spike likewise wrapped his arms around her, capturing that sweet little tongue and sucking on it lightly. Buffy whimpered, and the hand that was holding the back of his head clamped down on his hair so tight that she nearly tore it free of the roots.
Spike gave a soft ecstatic cry and draped his arm around her waist, hauling her up against him. His hand ran down to the small of her back, then back up again before clutching the sheer black shirt she wore over the halter. Snarling softly, he jerked it down her shoulders, having to forcibly push her hands away in order to yank it off.
Buffy's hands refused to remain idle, and in response to Spike's desperation, she began tugging relentlessly at the clasp of his jeans. Her other hand ran up the smooth, bare skin of his chest, obviously happy that the expanse of finely toned ivory wasn't hindered by something so annoying as a T-shirt. Especially one of Spike's. Her fingers brushed over his nipple and Spike gave a hiss before making yummy growly noises in her ear and shifting himself against her. He slid both hands down to her ass and cupped it before lifting himself up and hiking her up along with him, his lips worshipping the smooth golden skin of her neck.
He pulled back for one critical moment to ask, "Is the door locked?"
Buffy looked up, replying breathlessly, "Nobody's home."
Spike grunted, then stalked over to the door, Buffy still in his arms. "Rather prefer us not giving a peep show should anyone come home early," he grumped, flicking the lock shut. He looked up at Buffy then, a sly grin crossing his handsome, angular face. "'Sides, doors have their uses."
To prove his point, he yanked her against him and pinned her against said door. Buffy let out a gasp and a slight wince -- that had sort of hurt -- then wrapped her arms around his neck as he allowed her to slide down. Raising his left leg, he pinned it between hers, then gazed at her for a moment, before pressing his lips to hers. Buffy moaned as Spike's tongue snaked its way in to her mouth, and she arched her lower back up, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Spike growled and tugged at the flimsy little strings holding her top up. How the hell did these things manage to hold her up? They made everything more... perkier than without it, but the only things holding it were strings thinner than his pinky nail. He reached around her back. Whoops, there went the straps. The thing was more or less just hanging on her like a bib now. Whether Buffy noticed or even cared didn't really matter -- she was more engrossed in sucking his earlobe and nipping his neck and whoa, so that's where that little hand had gotten to.
Buffy moaned as she felt Spike's hand move under the loosened halter, his fingers rubbing and eventually squeezing the soft globe of flesh underneath. Her own hands worked harder to undo his jeans. Slip here, button there, he just had to have worn his damn button-flys today, the big mook. Oh well, one more button, and there was not-so-little Spike, standing straight up between their bodies, making the vampire's entire being stand up and salute its oh-so-favorite Slayer. Spike's hands moved up her bare back, tugging once, twice, and damn, there went the halter, right over Spike's shoulder. She wasn't going to find that thing for another three months after thiiiiiis -- ooh, Spike lips, nice and cool, right on her collarbone, leading down, down and teasing the very peak of ice cream scoop breasts, hands fondling, lips sucking, tongue caressing a spirited, erect pink nipple. Buffy threw her head back and moaned loudly, then decided to return the favor, ignoring her lover's very eager friend for the moment while she sank her blunt teeth into his right nipple. Spike yowled in surprise and shoved her harder against the wall, his head lifting up until his eyes met hers.
Okay, so foreplay was no longer in the itinerary after this. Naughty, Slayer, naughty, naughty little girl, playing Bite The Big Bad with the oh-so-BIG Bad.
Buffy toed her boots off as best she could, each flopping to its own place on either side of Spike. Spike tore her pants off, knowing he'd probably catch hell for it later but not really caring as the silver links of her belt flew through the air and smacked against the heavily shaded window. All she was left in now was a tiny -- impossibly tiny, she found these itty-bitty clothes for the sole purpose of torturing him, he knew it -- black lace thong. He could see her dark brown curls peeking out from the edges and oh god the little bint knew how to make a man's cock explode. And he was still in his bloody jeans? Okay, right now, so not a necessity.
Pressing himself up against Buffy in order to keep her from falling to the floor, he squirmed his narrow hips out of the jeans then kicked his legs until the bloody evil things had found their way down into a puddle on the floor. Kicking them as far away as possible, he turned his attention back to his beloved, her strong smooth thighs still locked in a vice grip around him. He growled softly, and Buffy's head immediately rose up, her blue-green-brown-gold-violet-silver eyes looking right back into the depths of his gray-blue-gold-and-silver peepers. Wait a minute -- her eyes were glowing. That shouldn't be happening. But god, it was. Buffy's eyes were glowing like a vampire's, and she was whimpering, oh, her sweet little mewls and whines, begging for him to spread-and-spear her. He was plenty hard, he knew, and if he hadn't been in the room with the girl, he could've smelled her arousal from the very outskirts of Sunnydale, but he just had to get her ready, first. Figuring out what Buffy's glowy eyes meant could wait until he wasn't otherwise occupied with fucking her raw in the course of -- well, the rest of the night.
He growled again and Buffy obediently moved her head forward, pressing her lips savagely to his. Spike snarled and kissed her back with just as much inhuman brutality that he possessed within him. His left hand pressed against the wall to steady him, he slid his right down between them, running a cool finger between Buffy's legs as he teased her swollen lips. Another pleading whimper that seeped into his own mouth, one that he savored, and gently he parted her lips before pushing first one finger, then two into her sopping channel. Buffy mewled and arched against him, her lips never once moving from his own. As slowly as possible, he began moving his now-drenched fingers in and out of her, each exit resulting a thoroughly disappointed whine, each entry resulting in an elated, desperate moan for more.
In... out... in... out... in, out, in, out, inout, inout, inout, inoutinout, inoutinout, inoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinout...
Buffy's high, piercing keen shattered his super-sensitive hearing, the noise almost so high-pitched that any minute, Buffy's room would be overflowing by the neighborhood dogs. Withdrawing his completely soaked hand, he licked it clean, then bent in to lick and suck her lower lip as he hoisted her up again, pressing the swollen head of his cock against her still-incredibly-so-very-tight entrance. Buffy, All Hail the Queen of Impatience, thrust her hips up, engulfing the tip in her moist, tight inferno. Spike hissed loudly, burying his face in her neck and groaning. Once again, barely within her, not even moving, and she was stripping his skin off. He let out a low, resonating growl as he slid the rest of the way into her. Buffy gave a soft, gasping cry as he stretched her, filled her, completed her, teased every nerve ending she knew of, and of course, the ones she didn't even realize she had. She was positive that this was going to be the thing that killed her. Although, it was probably going to be a very happy death.
There was no cautiousness; Buffy had allowed Spike in that first night, and Spike no longer heeded the need for it. Their need and desire for each other could be seen by everybody and their vampire's Sire, and as Vampire and Slayer locked eyes with each other, Spike began to rock against her, his hips thrusting and pumping and pistoning deep into her.
Buffy slowly began to rock her hips in time to Spike's thrusts, gazing into his eyes the whole time, almost as if she were under thrall. God, was this what it was like to touch Heaven? Her mind was forming hazy thoughts, and everything was a blur around her, save for Spike -- her Spike -- and eyes that were such magnificent, tumultuous shades of blue that even the sky envied them. She found her sanctuary in this face -- ironic enough that her sanctuary was the face of a vampire. But it was there, in the jut of his chin, the angles of his jaw, the razor sharpness of his cheekbones, the soft poutiness of his delectably smooth pink lips, the arch of his nose, the gaze of those soul-searching eyes, the curved scar on his left eyebrow -- a permanent mark of his encounter with his first Slayer. Everywhere, everything she saw on his beautiful ivory skin, his expressively emotional face, he was her refuge.
A loud, commanding growl escaped Spike's throat, and Buffy instantly pushed off the wall, wrapping her arms around his neck, continuing to lift herself on and off of his rock hard arousal as he moved them to the bed. He refused to extract himself from the confines of her body; instead, he allowed his legs to smack against the bed, then fell forward, covering the Slayer with his hard, marble-carved body. A deep rumbling ran from his chest into Buffy's skin, and she trembled against him, grasping his shoulders. "Spike, faster," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.
Spike grunted, closing his eyes as he shifted his hips, pounding into her at a faster pace. The sweat that was beginning to pour off her forehead ran onto his skin, and he nudged her nose with his, asking for a kiss. Buffy acquiesced, tilting her head up to capture his lips in a firm lock. Her hips thrust up beneath them, her mound meeting Spike's pelvis with each pressing plunge into her. Spike ducked his head down to capture her vein in his mouth, sucking slowly as his hands moved up to caress her heaving breast. A light squeeze, and Buffy was whimpering all over again, arching into his cool palm, the hard point of her nipple stabbing his palm. Spike took the hint and captured the nipple, squeezing and twisting as their bodies began to buck in unison to the pleasure evading them. They were both so close, so, so close, but at the same time, as far away as the state borders between California and Texas. In the background, Buffy could hear a faint thudding noise, as if someone was watching and playing a drum, the beat spurring them on and providing a primal, driving rhythm.
Then she realized that Spike was actually fucking her so hard that the whole bed was squeaking and thudding against the wall.
This could prove to be a problem if he ever got caught out in the sun and needed to spend the night with Dawn and Mom here. But for now, they were alone, and didn't need to worry. No need to worry at all, not when Spike's hand was running down her side, tweaking her nipple, tickling her bellybutton, brushing through the course curls hiding her warmth from the rest of the world but him, sliding between their sweat-slicked bodies to capture her clit, rubbing and squeezing the little ball of nerves. Buffy's back sprang off the bed and she let out a loud cry, her inner muscles clenching and strangling the cool, hard pillar inside of her. Spike was grunting with exertion and while his hand handled the Slayer's pleasure center, her scooped her ass up from underneath with the other, angling her sharply in order to reach the more sensitive areas inside of her. His tongue slid out and began licking along her shoulder and her collarbone, before focusing solely on the area of her neck where he'd bitten her last. The hand cupping her ass slid down the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and holding it over his shoulder as he drove into her faster and harder. At the first sign of her orgasm, Spike struck, vamping and sheathing his fangs inside her neck.
Buffy screeched, holding his head to her neck as he drank greedily at the thick, empowering essence dripping from her skin. Her hips began bucking right off of the bed, slamming into his with more force than she probably intended, as her body shook from the overpowering orgasm washing over her. Spike snarled, forcing his face away from her neck. He glared lustfully at her, his teeth stained with crimson, as he sliced his tongue and lapped at the wounds. "Mine," he growled in a low voice. Buffy's body went rigid for a moment, sparks the size of meteors flashing in front of her eyes, before she head butted him abruptly, sending him onto his back. Spike reeled with surprise, then calmed down as the Slayer slid on top of him, her hips riding him hard and violently. "Always," she gasped. Spike's jaw dropped, and he attempted to say something to her, to alert her of what she'd just done, but it was a bit difficult to protest with a set of extremely powerful Slayer muscles wrangling his aching cock. Spike's eyes rolled up and he groaned loudly, the sound slowly mutating into an animalistic howl.
"Buff--" he attempted to cry out, as his hips sprang up, carrying the Slayer with them. One thrust, two, and Spike was launched into space as he orgasmed.
He wasn't sure if the sight he saw next was amazing or horrific -- he really was leaning more toward amazing, though -- because Buffy's eyes glowed gold once again. Bending down, she buried her face in Spike's neck, licking and nibbling, and suddenly, Spike felt the all-too-familiar sensation of fangs pricking his skin. His eyes widened in disbelief, but disbelief was short-lived, and incredible arousal flared up in its stead. Buffy had bitten him, and was in the process of -- well, drinking was perhaps too strong of a word -- lapping, was more like, at his blood. She sliced her tongue and mingled the blood, murmuring "Mine," in a soft, quiet voice. If possible, Spike's climax intensified, and he replied "Yours," in wonder.
As he came down, Buffy flopped on top of him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, her nose nuzzling his throat as she licked her mark clean. Spike lay silent, almost frozen, in shock and disbelief. She'd just claimed him in return, and -- well, to be truthful, he had no fucking idea what to do, and for once, he was speechless. On top of that, Buffy had just randomly sprouted fangs in order to bite him! When in the hell did that happen? How the hell was he supposed to know what to do about this? He was the only vampire to ever lay claim to a Slayer!
Oh, god, Giles was gonna kill him...
When he snapped back to his senses, his head shifted a bit and he peered down at the tiny blonde resting on top of him. "Do you realize what you just did?" he rasped, staring at her in something akin to awe.
Buffy tilted her head, looking up at him and running her fingers through his poodle curls fondly. "I have a vague idea," she murmured.
Spike's lips quirked the tiniest bit. "Do you have any idea how you did it?"
Buffy shrugged. "I bit you, I drank you, I cut my tongue, we did the watusi, what's the big?"
The quirk became a full-blown grin. "Yeah. But you grew fangs to do the biting, luv."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I did n--" she started, then froze. Pausing momentarily, she raised her hand to her mouth and felt around inside. Her canines were still elongated. Her eyes widened in horror and she quickly searched her face, fearful to feel any demonic ridges that might have formed while she wasn't aware. Nothing. Just the teeth.
Spike's grin didn't waver, but his face softened. "Don't have any bumpies, pet. Just the teeth. Oh, an' your eyes were glowing."
Buffy's eyebrows went up. "I have glowy eyes?"
Spike chuckled. "Yeah, luv. You have glowy eyes."
Buffy's nose crinkled up. "I don't know how to feel about that."
Spike grinned and pulled her down, rolling on top of her. "I think I do."
"So Lauren said that Kevin was definitely planning to ask me to the dance, but I have no clue whether to believe her or not, because I've caught Kevin looking at me a bunch of times, and he's always stuttering and stuff when he's around me, but she's lied to me before about the guys I like," Dawn whined as Willow and Tara followed her through the door of the house. She figured three hours was plenty of time for Buffy to give Spike a 'see here' -- or two, or three -- and the Wiccas were gladly walking her, as well as listening to the love trials of a soon-to-be high school freshman. "I mean, remember the Mark Potter incident? What if she's just pulling another scam, so she can get close to Kevin, and say she's my 'ambassador' or whatever, just so she can go with him to the end of the year dance?"
Willow tilted her head, frowning. "I thought Lauren was the friend that could be trusted? Why are you hanging out with her if she's just planning on stealing the guy you like?"
"Well, it's just that --"
"Guys?" Tara interrupted, looking up the stairway. "I think we came at a bad time."
Dawn frowned. "What do you mean?"
Tara made the universal 'shhh!' gesture, and pointed up the stairs. Willow and Dawn lent their ears. Faint grunting noises could be heard, as well as a faint thumping. Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek sounded. Dawn's eyes widened. There was no mistaking Buffy's voice, no matter... how high it sounded. Willow 'eep'ed and motioned a hand toward the door. "Ohhh, goddess. Come on, let's go. We'll stop back later."
No sooner were they out the door when all three heard Buffy's desperate plea: "Oh, god. Oh -- god! Oh, god, Spike! Take me, take me now!"
Willow's face beamed a bright red as her jaw dropped and Tara had her mouth covered to keep from laughing. But Dawn, whose wide grin of absolute elation at the knowledge that her sister and Spike were officially serious, summed things up the best with a loud, squealed, "EW!"
Willow and Tara burst into laughter, and the three turned to scurry down the walk.
it's almost over! :*(
Now go to t.h.e. e.p.i.l.o.g.u.e. Why? Because I said so :)